


How Long Do I Have To Wait?

by Gangstertogangster



Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Canon Compliant, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:42:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gangstertogangster/pseuds/Gangstertogangster
Summary: Title from Sharon Jones' song 'How Long Do I Have To Wait For You?'The first installment I think, in a series about Shades and Mariah trying couples' therapy.My timeline is still very sloppy. But this takes place after they've been married for a few months.
Relationships: Shades Alvarez/Mariah Dillard
Comments: 11
Kudos: 3





	1. How Long?

"This is some bullshit! I'm out!" Mariah exclaimed to the room containing her husband and Dr. Jones. 

She grabbed her Louis Vuitton purse and her rich parka, muttering under her breath. Really, she was trying not to hyperventilate. 

Hernan was left on the couch after his wife slammed the door behind her. He stared, lost in thought, ahead of him. His gaze extended past Dr. Jones and the doctor's notepad, towards the framed poster of Duke Ellington in the corner. Hernan's eyes grew weary. He exhaled deep, fished in his inner jacket pocket for the hundred dollar bills in his wallet. He slapped them down on the table before Dr. Jones, saying a curt, "Sorry," before he glumly walked out the door without another word. 

Hernan raced outside past the waiting room, down the stairs of the old historic brownstone, out into the crisp January day, trying to catch up with Mariah. She was already gone. 

"How long do I have to wait for you?' He found himself say aloud. 

* * *

_Why did I let him talk me into fucking therapy? I don't need a damn therapist!_ Mariah's mind continued to race even after four straight glasses of vodka. 

She sunk into the couch, her eyes shut tight. She didn't pretend to be surprised when Hernan came in through the back door. _My husband still walks in through the back door._

"What the hell are you doing?" Hernan demanded, "This is the fourth session I've had to pay extra for, and the third shrink we've seen, in a goddamn week." 

Mariah kept her eyes shut, grunting a sort-of response. Hernan walked over to her. Sat down in the chair across from her. 

"How much did you drink?" Hernan said gently, though he gave her a look of concern. 

"As much as I damn well please..." Mariah scoffed. She started to chuckle. It was a sad, bitter little laugh. 

"You promised me..." Hernan tried again. 

"DON'T!" Mariah snapped. "Don't make me sorry I told you that shit."

Hernan sighed, dejected. He whipped out his phone. "You want me to call Alex for anything?"

Mariah shook her head, scoffed again. She spoke, still tipsy, "You're the second person I told about that shit. Tilda at the Alamo when she asked so many goddamn questions..." 

"We need to work on communication. I don't like them either, but this ain't about that." 

"I made you a Stokes. What you wanted..." Mariah smiled. 

"Stop," Hernan growled. 

Mariah pouted. She folded her arms like a child. She sighed, "I'm gonna just lie down, OK?" 

Hernan nodded. He remained seated as she staggered upstairs to their bedroom. She had incredible balance even when she was drunk. 

* * *

After a few hours passed, Hernan came upstairs with some freshly brewed coffee. 

He put it beside the bedside table on Mariah's side of the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. She was lying in fetal position, still in her clothes, on top of the covers. 

She didn't stir for a while and they just stayed like that in silence for a while.

At last, she raised her head. She turned to face him. "It's better not to think about any of it. 'Just focus on your studies'. That's what my grandmother wanted. That's what she always instructed me to do, even when I was grown. Then it was 'Just focus on your work.' They don't understand, no one ever understands, not really, not unless they been through it. I didn't ask for any of this, and there is nothing that's going to erase it." She looked away, her eyes forlorn, her mouth in a tight scowl. 

"We've come a long way. That's what you said to me a while back. I want to help you as best I can. We can't let any more shit come between us. I don't want another Bushmaster situation." 

Mariah cleared her throat. She shot him a warning look, then said, "I tried seeing shrinks, Hernan. Different times. All of them shit."   
  


"I'm with you now, baby. We're doing it together," Hernan reassured his wife. 

"Everything happens for a reason," Mariah suddenly said, "That's what the first one told me. The second one told me to try yoga. I tried, but that shit ain't gonna take anything away." 

"I did research, I got Alex on it too. I won't let anyone try to tell you shit," Hernan said softly. He stroked her cheek. She shivered at his touch, but hummed in satisfaction. 

"Everything happens for a reason. Right?" Mariah said, bolting upright. "He groomed me, preyed on me, snuck into my room all those nights for a reason!" Mariah exclaimed. "I got pregnant with a child I didn't want and neglected for a reason! A child who hates me for a goddamn reason! All some divine plan. How is yoga gonna get rid of those stretchmarks, those scars?! I want to forget but I can't!" 

Mariah hung her head down. Hernan put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She leaned in against him in a clumsy embrace. He held onto her, like he did when she first told him. 

"I have so much I want to forget..." Hernan sighed into her hair. "But I want us to make it. You trusted me enough to marry me. I need you to do this with me now. Please." 

He felt his shirt get a little damp with her tears. She moved away from him, her eyes so weary. She tried to glare at him but she was too tired to maintain it. 

"I'll give that doctor another try. He looked fine, I must say." 

Hernan snorted but smiled. He embraced his wife again. 


	2. Every Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first real therapy session they partake in.

Mariah sat next to Hernan on the sofa opposite Dr. Jones. The many vintage posters of Jazz legends were what really sold Mariah on this man.

Dr. Jones cleared his throat, began with, "So, where should we start first?" 

"We always have sex, so no problems there..." Mariah snickered. Dr. Jones jotted something down on his notepad. 

Hernan sighed, exasperated. He looked at his gold watch, fidgeted in his seat. He didn't fidget, not since he was a kid. He hated people seeing him sweat, or squirm, for that matter. 

"Something wrong, Hernan?" Dr. Jones asked with a straight face. 

Hernan quickly clarified, "no, not at all." He shifted his attention to the framed Count Basie. 

Mariah smirked, leaned back on the couch. 

"Now, Mariah, why did you feel the need to begin with humor?" 

"Ain't nothing funny about all the love we make, Dr.," Mariah replied coolly. 

Dr. Jones shrugged and proceeded. "Anything else you'd like me to know, either of you?" 

"We need help communicating," Hernan cut in, "We got married and we want to make this work." 

Mariah scoffed, rolled her eyes. Hernan just looked at his wife, a little hurt. 

"Do you disagree, Mariah?" Dr. Jones asked. 

"Look, there's no way we're filling an hour with anything today. I ain't gotta say shit," Mariah said, crossing her arms. 

"You don't need to plead the fifth here, Mariah. I listen without judgment, and unless y'all disclose anything listed in the paperwork, I ain't gotta say shit either." 

Mariah gave a little chuckle in acknowledgement to that. 

"Now, how would you describe your relationship, either of you?" 

"Shady," Mariah deadpanned. 

Hernan cut in, "Trusting." 

Mariah glared at him. 

Dr. Jones nodded. 

Mariah felt the weight of both men's eyes on her. She huffed. 

"Do you not trust him?" Dr. Jones asked. 

Hernan blinked. He felt his heart sink. 

"I don't know if I trust you yet," Mariah replied. 

"Do you trust your husband." 

Hernan looked at her, trying to read her face. Mariah looked up at the ceiling for a moment then brought her gaze back down. She said, "Yes. I trust him. Y'all happy now?" 

"Do you trust me?" Hernan asked her, addressing only her now. 

"Why do I need to say it here?" Mariah hissed. "You already know the answer." 

Hernan swallowed, nodded. 

Mariah stroked his chin with a finger. She turned back to the doctor and said, again, "Yes. We good?" 

Dr. Jones nodded. He asked, "When did you two meet?" 

"I first saw her when I was eight years old. She was older and I kept trying to sneak looks at her. When I got older, I still did. She scoffed at me like she does here." Hernan gave a wry little smile after that. 

"I still scoff at you when I need to, baby," Mariah interjected. 

Dr. Jones smiled politely. "So it's been a long time," Dr. Jones said. 

"We first started seeing each other over a few years ago. We got married back in October,” Mariah added. 

“I heard, I saw all the coverage and the interview with Thembi Wallace. Congratulations, by the way. ” 

Mariah and Hernan nodded his way in acknowledgement.were silent, though they gave polite nods in response. 

“You get a lot of celebrities, Dr.?” Mariah asked, shifting her position on the couch so she was a little closer to Hernan. 

“I haven’t met with any...”

He stopped when he saw Hernan’s studious gaze. He watched Dr. Jones, trying to pick up on the next part of what he would say. 

“I haven’t met with any names like yours. I haven’t met a power couple like you.” 

“We as exciting as the Knowles-Carters?” Mariah laughed, mockingly. 

“Exciting is certainly a word that comes to mind when I look at the two of you.” 

Mariah nodded, draped her arm around Hernan’s shoulder. He sighed, trying to ignore the weight of her touch. 

“Dr.,” Mariah said, “Does our age difference give you any pause?” 

“I don’t make judgments,” the doctor replied, calm, “But it’s a nice change of pace from the older man and younger woman I’ve seen so often.” 

Hernan watched uneasily as Mariah’s smirk widened. 

“We want to talk about our relationship moving forward,” Hernan quickly added, a little impatient. 

Dr. Jones nodded, wrote some things down in his notepad. 

Mariah rolled her eyes and scoffed again, “Dr. do you want free admission to our club?”

“i don’t take gifts. Our hour is up, I’m sorry to say. I have other clients waiting. I don’t rank any of them higher or lower than each other.” 

The three of them rose to their feet. They shook hands. Hernan said, “Pleasure meeting you,” to which the doctor responded, “Likewise.” 

Mariah got up close to the doctor. She said, “I look forward to the next session.” Dr. Jones only smiled curtly, said, “As do I.” 

She asked Dr. Jones to help her with her magnificent faux fur lined coat, waited expectantly for him to lift it up for her to slip herself into. Hernan sighed, tried to look away. Duke Ellington’s eyes caught his. 

* * *

Once Mariah and Hernan left Dr. Jones’ office and got into the waiting room, they noticed no one waiting for them to have finished. 

“Why play games with him?” Hernan asked. 

“Why not?” Mariah countered, stroking his cheek, playing with his tie. 

“Because I don’t want to lose you like I almost did.” Hernan’s brow furrowed, and it made Mariah ease up. 

“Fine, Hernan. Remember, I haven’t seen a therapist in over a decade,” Mariah said. 

Hernan looked at the fishtank in the center of the waiting room, the bubbles and the fish swimming after one another. Mariah noticed, looked there too. 

“Is the plan to make me worry? Get jealous?” Hernan asked. 

“So insecure...” Mariah clucked. 

Hernan huffed. He walked out of the door ahead of her, but still held the door open. She stopped once she walked through, looked at him. Her husband. 

“I don’t care about that shit. I can’t front, though, I don’t want to lose you like back two summers ago,” Hernan told her. 

“Lose in what sense? What matters, darling, is that I’m here.” Mariah kissed him lightly on the lips, hers creeping into a sly smile. She walked ahead of him to the elevator and he just followed. 


	3. Goals, Perhaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Jones wonders why his newest clients are even sitting there on the couch, if not to delve into anything.

"I ain't no psychiatrist, ain't no doctor with degrees..." Mariah softly sang. She laughed at her own folly. Let the rest of the song play out in the back of her mind. 

Dr. Jones nodded, smiled. Hernan sat still next to Mariah. 

"My family all had That. That...thing. Buggy. Pete. Cornell. My daughter. Guitar, piano, vocals. I never had it, that aptitude for music. I been around it my whole life, never picked up any musicality." She looked down at her lap, shook her head again, gazed back up at Dr. Jones. She flashed him a smile. 

"You picked up some taste, surely. Being around all those performers," Dr. Jones countered. 

Mariah shrugged, looked at him quizzically. "Well I ain't say I lacked taste, Doctor, what's your first name?" 

"It's on my business card. You know it," He countered again. Mariah rolled her eyes, smirked coyly. 

"Then what do I call you?" 

"You don't need to call me anything. We can just talk." 

Hernan groaned a little at that, getting tired of the back-and-forth. He cleared his throat. "How about my wife just calls you by your government and everything's good?" 

Dr. Jones blinked, taken aback. "Very well," he said, relenting, "You can call me Ron."

Mariah leaned back in her seat on the couch, arms folded over her chest, triumphant. 

Then she asked, incredulous, "Ron? Really? What's it short for?"

"Let's get back to you two, alright?" Dr. Jones said, measured. 

"Usually the wife complains her man won't eat it, but that's not an issue here," Mariah grinned, rubbed on one of Hernan's inner thighs. 

Hernan looked away, trying to think of something else quickly. 

"There's the issue here," Dr. Jones said, "Of you two avoiding any real talk. Mariah, you make jokes, Hernan, you sit there without much to offer."

"But your ass still gets paid," Mariah cut in. 

"My ass ain't benefitting either of you, way things are going now. Why do you both sit here each week waiting for a miracle?" 

Hernan and Mariah exchanged weary glances at one another. 

"Neither of us grew up with therapy. Her grandma didn't believe in it and I ain't have shit," Hernan said. Mariah looked back at her husband, both offended he was speaking for her but also a little honored he was defending their joint stubbornness. 

"People like _us_ in therapy is the shit that only happens on an HBO dago drama," Mariah added. 

Dr. Jones nodded, jotted some notes down. 

Mariah crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt. "You been to the Paradise?" She asked. 

"You keep asking me that. What do you want the answer to be?" 

Mariah chuckled at that. "You sneak any peeks up at VIP, at the roost?"

"Those doors are closed to everyone," Dr. Jones answered. 

"Ain't what I asked."

"I've seen you and your cousin up there, then you and Sha...Hernan," Dr. Jones said.

Hernan gave him an annoyed glance that he tried to notice. 

Mariah nudged Hernan a little with her heeled shoe. She said "Behave," in a teacherly tone. To the therapist she added, "The point was that you and everyone else in Harlem knows that what happens up there stays up there. You can only ever hope to get glimpses." 

"Why do you give Hernan just those?" He countered. Mariah glowered at him. 

Hernan turned to his wife, bit looked away when she caught his eyes. 

"What makes you..." She started. 

"Hernan said you two need to work on communication. I was there, you were there. You have Hernan on that perch, and yet he's paying me to work with you guys." 

Mariah folded her hands in over each other in her lap. She stared Dr. Jones down as if trying to vaporize him with her eyes. "I tell Hernan plenty. I made him my husband. And you need to slow your roll." 

"We talk more than we did last year," Hernan quickly clarified. 

"What was last year?" Dr. Jones asked. 

"Bushmaster?" Mariah asked sarcastically. 

"Right," Dr. Jones nodded, "I remember those news stories. He had it in for you, didn't he?" 

Mariah scowled. "Yeah, he did. Now his ass is back where he came from. Peasant." 

Hernan tried to focus his attention on the posters. He didn't want the headache of an argument. He shifted his attention back to the other two in the room. "Dr.," Hernan began, "Let's cut the bullshit." 

"What bullshit?" Dr. Jones asked.   
  
"Yeah, what bullshit, baby?" Mariah teased. 

"We been through some shit, things went fast. I don't want to lose her like I almost did." 

"What do you mean?" Dr. Jones asked.

"What DO you mean?" Mariah chimed in. 

"I mean when you told me absolutely nothing about Bushmaster, or what happened with him and your family. Or when your brownstone burned, I wasn't there." 

"You didn't need to know that shit!" Mariah spat. "And you should have been there, instead of tracking your boyfriend! Luke Cage is the only man I can really count on." 

"And Che didn't...He was good! We were and are partners, I needed to know everything!" Hernan exclaimed. "And if that's how you feel, Luke's the only man there, what the hell am I doing?" 

"You're cute when you're angry, your nose gets all red and your eyes are all intense..." Mariah cooed. 

"You could count on me always! And you still can!" Hernan said. 

"Not when my house was burning!" Mariah cried. 

"I admit I should have been there." 

"Instead of with that dirty ass..." 

Hernan shook his head in exasperation. "No. We are not doing this again. I'm committed to you and you alone." 

"Our time is up", Dr. Jones pointed out, tapping at his gold watch. 


	4. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this a while. It's still a tad rushed. But I had been wanting to get back to this fic.

Dr. Ron Jones remembered all the times he sipped his drink at the bar in Harlem’s Paradise, watching the players in VIP more than he watched the act onstage. So often he wondered what it must feel like to get in their heads. Their perch positioning them high up above everyone else. He was just as much of a peon as the rest. 

He didn’t deal in celebrity clients, not usually. And the ones he did usually didn’t last long. None of them stuck around after loudly proclaiming “This is bullshit.” He wasn’t usually interested in the bored divas and hustlers and businessfolk that occupied his office. Which he believed said more about himself than any of them. He listened, as he was paid through their insurance to do. He jotted down the notes, recommended the coping skills they might find helpful. 

But they were usually politer than the former councilwoman of Harlem and her new husband. They treated therapy like a merry-go-round, a folly. And the man in question, known as Shades on the streets, he left hundred dollar bills on the table for Dr. Jones as if that made up for all the time they wasted. 

He gave them an ultimatum, last session. He said “You two either discuss your problems and stop dancing around issues, or I’m recommending you see someone else.” He really hoped he didn’t have to do that. Part of him still felt starstruck around them. They both carried so much darkness and mystique and it was killing him that neither would talk, really talk. It had already been four months of this game with them. The moment he’d think he’d found a way to break their wall, they built it up stronger. 

There was jealousy, past traumas, a prison lover, bisexuality, fears of infidelity, attempts on their lives. And Dr. Jones could barely get them to elaborate on how a given day was. It was all jumbled pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even know how to finish, or fit together at all. 

He sat in his office now, listening to The Temptations. Waiting for his next clients. He offered to talk with either him or her one on one some sessions, but the former Councilwoman seemed to absolutely loathe that idea. 

All of a sudden he heard those voices. A good ten minutes before their scheduled time, the door swung open. Shades-of-the-streets held it open for his wife, who sauntered in. She hung up her coat, then sat down on the sofa adjacent to his chair. Her husband followed suit, sitting beside her. 

“Good afternoon,” Dr. Jones said at last. 

“To you as well,” Hernan responded. 

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Mariah tossed out. 

Dr. Jones quickly got out his notebook and his pen. “How’s this past week been?” He asked the couple before him. 

Mariah sighed, said, “It wasn’t shit.” 

Dr. Jones looked at her, dejected. 

Mariah cleared her throat, adding, “Hernan and I have been communicating more. But you have to understand, trust is hard.”

Dr. Jones remarked, “You said earlier in a session from weeks ago you value trust more than anything.” 

“I value family more than anything,” Mariah clarified. 

“Well, you said you put a premium on trust,” Dr. Jones said. 

Mariah only rolled her eyes at that. 

Hernan cleared his throat, interjecting, “This is going nowhere. We want to keep seeing you.” 

Mariah scoffed, and Hernan gave her an exasperated look. 

“Talk to me and him!” Hernan sternly said, adding, “I’m tired of this shit.” 

“We told him a whole bunch of stuff!” Mariah threw back. 

“Like what?” Dr. Jones said. 

Mariah threw up her hands, turning angrily to the doctor. “Like we almost got killed, like Hernan is gay for his homeboy, Like we talk more than we did! If I didn’t trust him I never would have married him! Don’t bring up the impromptu proposal either. I never wanted therapy, just like I never wanted a whole lot of shit that happened anyway!” 

Dr. Jones’ eyes widened. “What shit?” He softly asked. 

Mariah scowled at both him and Hernan, then continued, “I was raped,” she said. 

Hernan looked at his wife, not knowing what to say or do next. 

Dr. Jones said nothing, waiting for Mariah to continue. 

“I was raped by my uncle Pete. I loved him and that’s what he did to me. He used to play games with me, but that was ok because I was laughing, that’s what he said…” Mariah looked down into her lap, feeling a sudden heaviness come over her. 

She said shakily, “I loved him so much. For what? He groomed me, then he snuck into my room at night. He was the first man who told me I was beautiful. Didn’t make fun of my dark skin. Then he raped me again and again.”

“That’s a lot of trauma to be holding on to,” Dr. Jones said. 

“You know he got me pregnant? And I had to have the baby? My grandmother said no abortions. I almost died giving birth to her, my daughter. Her daddy is her goddamn uncle.” Mariah glared at the doctor, shot up out of her seat, went for the door, changed her mind, sat back down. A few tears fell from her eyes. She angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand. 

“I didn’t want any of it!” Mariah cried. “Then Bushmaster’s ass comes here from rasta-land and makes attempts on my life because my grandmother burned down his house and burned his mama alive, my grandfather shot his daddy and claimed the club they built together, and he stole the recipe for the Bushmaster rum they made together, and the distillery. My family took their rightful prize. They fought for Harlem’s Paradise and those Jamaicans didn’t deserve it. We won. But I didn’t burn his house, I didn’t kill his parents, I didn’t do shit! I run the club because it’s my birthright! Not his! Harlem is mine! Not his!”

Mariah laughed coldly. “This is all off the record?” 

Dr. Jones sighed, said, “Yes.” 

He looked to Hernan who was looking ahead at some of the posters on the wall, much like Mariah did in months past. 

“Hernan, how do you feel about all of this?” 

Hernan snapped back to attention, shook his head. 

Mariah looked at him coldly. “He doesn’t think I deserve the club because of Bushmaster. He doesn’t have the loyalty. That’s why he brought me here.”

Hernan shouted, “I still helped you! I’m nothing BUT loyal to you! I don’t cheat AT ALL. On ANYTHING. 

Mariah turned to him, saying, “If you were loyal I WOULDN’T BE HERE NOW.” 

“We’re here because I need you, and because I love you. Always.”  
Hernan looked into her eyes. She tried to look away but he held her shoulders in that firm, gentle way that usually made her feel secure. 

“Shrinks can’t say shit. He’s not the Feds. I don’t want to wait for you to communicate. I want a future with you.” 

Mariah nodded. Hernan leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. 

Dr. Jones just sat there, held the notepad and pencil in his hands as if they were stage props. This was a whole lot of breakthrough. He almost felt guilty about wondering if he could score tickets to the Mavis Staples show next week. 

“I’m glad you both are being direct with each other. Mariah, I recommend finding ways to handle the severe PTSD you have, that don’t result in outbursts or heavy drinking. I’d be happy to show you skills to work on, exercises to do. And I need to ask, would you be interested in a rehab program? 

Hernan turned pale as a ghost at that suggestion. He knew how his wife would react. Indeed, Mariah gave Dr. Jones the nastiest look he’d ever seen in 25 years of this job. 

Even as she cleaned up her face with tissues she still looked as though she could easily lunge across the room and slit his throat. 

Hernan reached for his wife’s wrist, held it gently in the way he used to calm her down. 

Mariah said to Dr. Jones, “No, that won’t be necessary.” She abruptly got up and walked out of the room, Hernan following close behind


	5. Scheduling

Therapy went back to being evasive. It was more about the latest lineups at the club, than it was about anything else. 

Dr. Jones dreaded his sessions with them, despite the adrenaline rush he got, which was something he unfortunately grew hooked on. He felt a lump in his throat when they eventually waltzed in. They were acting like Lauryn Hill, the way they showed up at whatever time. Ever since the breakthrough Mariah was cold and distant, more so than usual. 

It was a real trip seeing Mariah Alvarez (or Stokes-Alvarez, whichever she went by, it changed) on TV or interviewed, with that phony smile on her face. He knew it wasn’t real. She did not talk politics in their sessions. She wasn’t trying to sell him something, but she was desperately trying to guard it. Ever since the breakthrough there were new walls. 

Hernan was losing his ability to sit still during their time together. He wasn’t about to make Mariah talk. He wasn’t talking much himself. Dr. Jones really wished he could make Hernan say a little more, but of course he couldn’t really do that. 

He wanted to scream at them, “It’s one hour a week! Get your shit together!” And maybe they’d realize how selfish they were being. 

But he remembered Mariah and what she told him that day. She was hurting, no matter how many times she still deflected. 

Hernan had a past, Dr. Jones could tell. He had his own scars. But he didn’t think Hernan wanted to discuss anything related to him or his own life. Bringing up Comanche was a rough subject. That’s when Mariah fumed and Hernan squirmed. 

He still took their money, no matter how many therapy sessions got cancelled or wasted. And it was fun to abstractly reference the couple at dinner parties and luncheons. 

It was a comfortable rhythm they got themselves into, he and his clients. That is, until they (rather, she) told him by email that they were canceling their therapy for good. 

He wanted to angrily type back, “What the hell? Why?” 

But instead like a professional he typed back “I respect your decision, if you need a recommendation for a new therapist I’d be happy to provide one.” 

At home he mindlessly flipped through netflix. He was seething. He had barely been able to pay attention to the rest of his clients that day. Sure they might be mentally ill or survivors of trauma, but were they the power couple of Harlem? No they weren’t. 

His wife Nina sat down next to him as he kept scrolling the streaming platform. 

“Why have you been moping here since you came back home?” She inquired. 

Dr. Jones wished he could roll his eyes. He just sighed dejectedly and answered, “They quit.” 

“They? Who is ‘they’?” 

“You know who,” he said. 

Nina nodded in recognition. Her brow furrowed. “Why?” 

“They didn’t want to put in the work I guess.” 

Nina scoffed. “They already didn’t do that. Besides, we don’t need blood money.”

Dr. Jones said, “Blood insurance, more like.” 

“That what all those hundred dollar bills were?” 

He groaned. “You know I didn’t take those wads of cash.” 

Nina laughed, teasing, “Yeah, sure. You’re lucky we can afford nice things without Stokes dollars.” 

“Or you’d throw me out?” 

“Or something like that,” Nina chuckled, curling up next to her husband. 

Dr. Jones nearly spit out his coffee when he heard the news. 

He was minding his own business in between clients, enjoying his latte in his office. When almost out of nowhere his phone rang. He answered it immediately. 

“Hey, how you been?,” said a familiar voice right off the bat. 

“Hernan?” Dr. Jones asked. 

There was a pause on the other end. Then Hernan picked up the conversation again. 

“Mariah and I want to go back to the previous arrangement.” 

“You can’t just do that, I need to look at my schedule.” Dr. Jones felt his throat go dry after that feeble little defense. 

“Mariah trusts you. I trust you. We will make any date, any time, work.”

“Why do you want to go back to seeing me?”

Hernan gave a soft little chuckle over the phone. “We’re parents. Adopted a baby girl.” 

Dr. Jones’ jaw dropped. He felt like he couldn’t breathe for a few moments. 

“Tha...That’s great...c..congratulations to you both,” He stammered at last. 

“So what time is best for you?” Hernan asked. 

“I...uh...Thursday at 7:30 PM? I have a slot available then, I believe.” 

“Great, we’ll be there.” And with that Hernan hung up the phone. 

Dr. Jones immediately went to the kitchen to pour some wine. He got himself a generous glass of Merlot. 

He sat at the table with his head in his hands for a while before he even took his first sip. By that point Nina came in, asked, “What’s with you?” 

“THEM,” Dr. Jones exclaimed loudly. 

Nina stared at her husband, confused, until it dawned on her. She took a deep calming breath. “Tread lightly, Ron,” she cautioned. 

He could only groan in response. 


	6. Back in Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, I feel like. I wanted to end it on a hopeful but realistic note. They're continuing to go to therapy. 
> 
> Also I feel like they totally just bought the office space for the purpose of not having to deal with any other patients, so as to allow for one of them to abruptly leave, as tends to happen.

Hernan, Mariah, and Dr. Jones sat in the therapist’s office , still as could be,waiting for one of them to finally say something. 

Dr. Jones relented and began. His Rolex said they had plenty of time still.

“Why did you adopt a child, first off?” Dr. Jones asked the couple who came back into his office for their first session since they initially quit. 

“We can’t get pregnant,” Mariah said coldly, and looked him over as if he were stupid. 

“My little cousin got pregnant and didn’t want to keep it, so she asked Mariah, and Mariah asked me later,” Hernan added. 

“How does your biological child feel about that?” Dr. Jones wondered aloud, more to himself than to the couple across from him. 

Mariah scoffed. “Tilda? Who cares what she thinks!” She folded her arms instinctively. 

“You put a lot of emphasis on blood relation, Mariah,” Dr. Jones pointed out, “That’s why I ask.” 

Hernan cut in, “She’s still our daughter.” 

“Mariah, do you agree?” Dr. Jones asked. 

Mariah looked down at her lap. Hernan looked over at her, concerned and a little aggravated. 

“She’s still our family, right? Just like me?” Hernan asked, tilting his head slightly in the way that betrayed his emotions. 

Mariah looked at him coldly. “Just like you, sure,” she said. 

“The hell does  _ that _ mean?!” Hernan shot back, more as a statement than a question. 

Dr. Jones took a deep breath. “Mariah, do you view this girl as your real daughter?” 

Mariah gritted her teeth, squirmed in her seat on the couch a little. After a long pause she said, “I do.” 

Hernan was looking away from his wife, hurt. 

“If you’re so concerned about blood relation why not just get a fertility drug from your elder daughter?” Dr. Jones tried again. 

“She’s one bad day away from poisoning my ass, I wouldn’t risk it,” Mariah curtly answered. 

Hernan sat there glowering. He cleared his throat much too loudly. “Why do we need to talk about blood relation? We have a baby girl and that’s it. We good or not?” Hernan asked, impatient. 

“HE’S the one who keeps asking the stupid questions!” Mariah exclaimed. 

Hernan said, “This was a mistake. I’m done here.” He got up from the couch, smoothed some creases in his shirt, grabbed his suit jacket from the coat rack and left the room. 

Mariah sucked her teeth, muttered “Shit,” and then left the room after him, telling Dr. Jones, “We’ll be right back.” 

Hernan was headed towards the elevator. He felt his face get hot and his eyes feel heavy. 

Mariah called after him, “Hernan! Get back here!”

Hernan had trouble ignoring his wife if she ever called him back, so he froze before he could press the down button. 

“He was just messing with my head. It’s hard for me to say what I should in these moments, but you can’t leave me,” Mariah told him. 

Hernan didn’t answer. He looked at her with pained eyes and he wished like hell he had sunglasses, the ones he purposely kept in a neat case, locked away. 

“Everyone I love betrays me,” Mariah said. 

Hernan stared at her in shock. He asked, voice softening, “Does that include me?” 

Mariah snapped, “You know what I mean!” 

He was looking away, back towards the door to Dr. Jones’ office. 

“I love Honor. I love our daughter. And I love you, Hernan,” Mariah said to him. 

“I won’t leave…” Hernan said softly. 

“So don’t,” Mariah answered. She reached out and held his hand. He reciprocated. 

She went up close to him and kissed him. He pulled her in, kissing her more. 

Dr. Jones appeared in the waiting room, before them. 

“You want to come back in?” He asked. 

They obliged. 

“Where were we?” Hernan said, cheerily. 

“We were talking about your daughter.” 

“I consider her my daughter. My real daughter. I do love her,” Mariah stated, looking Dr. Jones right in the eye. 

Hernan smiled. Mariah reached out for his hand again and he held hers. 

“Do I have to say I love you too?” Mariah asked him. 

Hernan sighed, kissed her. 

Dr. Jones wrote down some notes about physicality in his notepad. He then said, “What did you name your daughter, I never asked.” 

“Honor,” Hernan smiled, “Honor Mariah Enriqua Alvarez.” 

“Honor Mariah….You named your daughter Honor Mariah?” Dr. Jones asked, utterly shocked. 

“Yeah, who cares?” Mariah demanded. 

“The daughter is...named for the purpose of honoring you,” Dr. Jones said, “That’s a lot of expectation to put on an infant.” 

“It was my idea,” Hernan said. 

“And it’s in the goddamn Ten Commandments,” Mariah huffed, “Can’t you give me the benefit of the doubt?” 

“It’s a beautiful name, beautiful names, don’t get me wrong. I’m sorry to have offended you,” Dr. Jones sputtered. 

“She can’t be a Stokes, that’s too much pressure. THAT is too much pressure for a child.”

“But you just said…”

“But she is me. She is my family. Just not cursed,” Mariah stated. 

Dr. Jones looked at his watch. “Our time is up for today,” he told the couple, “But I want to ask you another question.” 

Hernan scoffed. Mariah looked at him, said, “You haven’t asked enough questions?” 

“What do you both want to get out of these sessions?” 

“I want to break the curses. Be the mother I never was to Tilda. And I want you to help me,” Mariah answered. 

Hernan nodded, adding, “We want to be the parents she deserves. We want to honor that.”

Dr. Jones couldn’t help but snicker at the hidden pun. When he saw the couple’s outraged faces he immediately began to apologize, insisting he had remembered a line from a movie he saw recently. 

They left the room without acknowledging this. 

When they got home, Alex was there awaiting them. 

“How did she behave?” Mariah asked her assistant. 

“Very well, madam,” he smiled, “Honor is sleeping like an angel.” 

Mariah gave him a fist bump, smiling, “I can always count on you!”

Hernan nodded in acknowledgement of the younger man. Alex tried to look him in the eyes properly, hold his ground. Hernan reached for his wallet.

“Hernan, remember this is a bonus. Not part of his regular salary, that I pay him, remember,” Mariah pointed out. 

“Thank you very much, Madam,” Alex said, giving a smug little look to Hernan. Hernan could only offer a scoff in response, as he handed Alex the sizable amount of cash. Mariah glared at him and he went to go hang up his coat.

A little bolder, Alex added, “Can I fix you anything before I leave, Madam? Or you, Hernan?” 

Mariah beamed with pride at the still relatively young man. She patted him affectionately on the shoulder and shook her head. 

Once Alex was out the door, assuring Mariah she’d see him tomorrow, Mariah went back to staring down her husband. 

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Mariah sighed. 

“You know I don’t do that shit,” Hernan insisted. 

“A woman knows her man better than he knows himself,” Mriah smirked. She added, “Man, if you’re so preoccupied with Alex, why don’t you take over the job of fixing my drink?” 

Hernan took a breath but thought better of replying. He simply asked, “Martini?” 

“Belvedere, neat,” Mariah said. 

Hernan did as he was told. Then he went upstairs to see how Honor was. He watched their daughter asleep in her crib and he smiled.  _ She really is an angel _ , he thought. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Mariah stood next to him over the crib. 

“I thought you were having your drink,” Hernan remarked. 

“I didn’t really want it,” Mariah said, keeping close to him. He held her hand and the proud parents stood above the girl. Mariah snuggled up against him, he held her close. 

They saw her stir just a little. “She really is ours,” Mariah breathed. Hernan hummed in reply. 

Then, Honor began to cry. Mariah was a little startled at that. 

“She’s  _ yours _ , baby,” Mariah cautioned almost playfully as she headed back downstairs to her drink. 

  
  



End file.
